Why Not All Love is Good Love
Sometimes you have to let love go.
I have this reoccurring dream in which the once love of my life crawls back into it and begs me to be with him again. I, being the spineless coward that I am, say yes, and then we fall into each other’s arms and live happily ever after.
But the truth is: I hate these dreams.
I hate them for the way they make me feel when reality slams its cold, hard fist right into my heart and I hate the way they leave my sleep-riddled brain full of hope.
It’s foolish, I know, but some silly, lovesick part of me will forever long for him. It’s foolish because I know, strictly speaking, that it’s absolutely impossible he feels that way about me. We parted in the most negative of ways and I’m sure my final and lasting impression on him will forever be the sight of me, twisted in rage as I lobbed the can of Clorox Wipes right at his smug face.
He told me, point-blank back then, that he “Did not love me anymore.”
It’s even more foolish because I’ve come to realize that my love for him wasn’t healthy. It didn’t make me happy. It wasn’t good for me.
Truthfully, our love left me broken. It suffocated me, swallowed me whole, chewed me up and spit me out and then left me for dead. I wasn’t bright or bold or…
